She's a Bad Mother Fucker

Im a man of a million secrets but there’s a girl, who so happens to be my favorite one. No one has dominated my thoughts as much as she has in recent years, I often find myself obsessing over her the way an artist fixates on a new idea.    
   
When she comes to me, I stand there breathless, waiting to exhale, upon her approach – I can imagine time itself taking an interest, stopping to watch the way she walks towards me with a sense of purpose. I drink her visage with thirsty eyes fixed on her lean silhouette as she saunters towards my direction and I love how her hair cascades and decadently falls to her shoulders. Her felicitous smile captures me every time and not to mention, the ineffable, natural perfection of her eyes - ferocious, exotic, alluring- fixed on me and nothing else. Before she says anything, she unawarely kisses me with her eyes upon inital contact, a precursor of what's to come. She has a special way about her, simplistic in every sense but there is true beauty to be found in simplicity and every aspect of her is simply perfect. She would argue that she is flawed beyond acceptance, but I don’t think she realizes that true perfection is forged through pressure, strength and perseverance over what we perceive as personal defects.  
   
She carries herself with distinguishable strength, pride and dignity that turns heads wherever we go but when we are alone I love when she begrudgingly allows herself to be weak behind a closed bedroom door. Only then, I know is when she has given her true self to me, a gift I value just as much as her trust for I know both are not easily given. She's a woman of a thousand expressions, each one a different story but my favorite tale is her paramour look as she fixates on me mysteriously with amorous eyes. Sometimes, I feel like I can read her as easy as a children's book, but as we move further along our undefined relationship, she surprises me with a new plot twist and I’ve come to find that she’s more akin to a well written enigma that I take pleasure trying to solve. After all, I do love finding surprises in the most unlikely of places.  
   
I had been viewing the world through a monochromatic lens but her story brought color to my life which up to now, had contemporarily been a dry-well of inspiration. She brings out the artisan in me that had been long dormant. When we are together, my heart pumps creativity, my words flow like an angry river, I spit poetry worth remembering onto papyrus and I bleed art from slit wrists worth a person’s weight in admiration onto canvas as I work to impress her with the splendor of my mind. Lately, ive been seeing the world through a kaleidoscope, everything, made more beautiful with her radiant presence. One can say, she makes me a better person and If I am drunk with creativity because of her, I don’t think I ever want to be sober again.  
   
At times, she can be a woman of few words but she speaks body language loudly, clearly and fluently judging from the way she touches me with delicate hands that I surmise can move even the strongest and staunchest of us with a simple caress. I love the way she embraces me when we lay naked, vulnerable, our bodies entangled as I enjoy her lips glide across my body, instinctively knowing where to place her kisses.  
   
Meeting her was serendipitous, getting to know has been fortuitous but getting this close to her has been a benediction. We converse like old friends who've known each other for several life times, we kiss like unrequited lovers but we fuck like deviant porn stars. I love how she can arouse me into a blistering inferno with the power of suggestion. When I kiss her, it always feels like December, each kiss individually more unique then the last. And when I stare into her eyes, her usual feral look softens as she exposes her own predilection for my affection. I love running my fingers down the slopes of her shoulders down to the small of her back, her body looks as if god had pressed his divine fingers across her body, carving all the right curves and subtle indentations specific to my liking. She has these vespertine eyes that flourish in the blanket of darkness, its beauty further accented by whatever pale light finds its way to my bed. I cant help the need to pause and let myself soak her in, committing the moment to memory for me to savor when im alone.  
   
Here’s a lesson in relativity. When we are together, hours feel like minutes while minutes dwindle away like seconds, each iota of time I relish like posh wine on thirsty lips but to not see her is a struggle with time as it passes slowly like molasses through a narrow opening in a bottle, while I suffer a drug addict’s lament as I long to feel her touch, jonesing to taste the next kiss, eager to penetrate her once again so I can feel the fire she keeps bottled inside – I strive to leave a memorable impression she'd feel the next day, in the form of a sweet nagging pain in between her legs when she returns to the part of her life that doesn’t include me.    
   
At times, she can be incredibly esoteric in her ways, ingratiatingly stubborn in conversation and her neuroticism can be maddening but lucky for us, I’m a man of infinite patience and besides that's a price worth suffering for a taste of her brand of sophistication.    
   
What else can I say? She’s a bad mother fucker.